The battlefield crackled with heat and smoke as the rising sun cast pale light over the blood-soaked fields. Bodies littered the trenches. Broken lances and shattered shields formed makeshift barricades, while smoldering magical glyphs glowed faintly beneath a charred earth crust.
But the battle was far from over.
Lucas stood atop the central watchtower, wind billowing his crimson-lined cloak as he surveyed the aftermath of Phase One.
"Malrick," he said, "detonate the eastern trench glyphs. Wait for my mark."
Below, Malrick gave a silent nod, hands poised over the etched runes. The merchant's once-cheerful face was now grim, eyes glinting with a strategist's cold focus.
